The Black thin line
by Julie London
Summary: How did Regulus find out about Voldemort's plans? Follow Regulus through his journey for the truth. *Written for The Regulus Black Competition* Rated T to be safe.


**A/N**: Entry for the **"Regulus Black Competition"** created by **Thanatos Angelos Girl**, on the **HPFC forums**. I tried to stick to cannon as much as I could, of course, the whole Burke story was made up by me. Since Burke is indeed missing on the last book, I decided to play a little bit with that fact and played with his role during the first war. Also Marcus Rosier was made up by me and I invented Moaning Myrtle's last name. Thanks for reading (:

**Summary**: How did Regulus find out about Voldemort's plans? Follow Regulus through his journey for the truth. *Written for The Regulus Black Competition*

**Disclaimer**: HP and all of its characters belong to JK Rowling.

Thank you for reading!

~ Julie

* * *

><p><span>The Black thin line<span>

The line between good and evil is thin, invisible even. Too much of a good thing, or a bad thing for that matter, can kill. That, I've learnt throughout the years. The extremes are bad, despite which path you choose. Good causes are good, yes, but they can drive you insane, they can be painful or even lead to self destruction. Look at my brother, or my cousin Andromeda, disowned by their families, hated, removed from the Black's royal lineage. Is it really worth it, the spite of your family? No one knows where they are now, hiding I imagine.

And then there is evil, pure evil. It's also painful, insane and destructive. So, what's the difference? Look at Bellatrix, out of her mind. It's sick how she rejoices at murder; disgusting how she laughs when blood drips out of her victims. Take Kreacher now, the most loyal house-elf I have ever met, yet the suffering he had to endure was revolting. What had he done to deserve it? Absolutely nothing, but being good.

Yes, the line between good and evil is thin. So thin that I can't explain when torturing stopped being entertaining, when the Lord ceased to be my Master, when the Mark on my arm burned in my conscience.

The first clear memory I have is his absence. At first, the Dark Lord would disappear for a couple of days, which was normal; but gradually, those days became weeks and later, months. He would come back different, physically exhausted, disfigured even. He looked weaker, but somehow felt stronger. I couldn't help but wonder what the Dark Lord was doing. I guessed that he was travelling abroad, looking for something.

And I made my job to find out what.

One day, I heard from Lucius Malfoy that the Dark Lord had been trying to contact Caractacus Burke. This was not odd, given Burke's dealings with dark magic, but for some reason curiosity triggered inside my head. Why would the Lord need to contact an old shopkeeper when he had several talented wizards around, such as Severus and Rodolphus? Lucius was not famous because of his wit, so after a couple of tricky questions I managed to take it out of him.

"The Dark Lord commanded _me_ to find Mr. Burke because he needs Burke's help in certain…affairs," he said, raising his chin up in the air.

Whether Malfoy truly knew anything about these affairs, I never knew. But why would the Dark Lord need _help_? He never needed anything or anyone, but himself. So I paid a visit to Borgin and Burkes and I wasn't surprised when I found a closed shop. I wasn't as naïve as to think that the Dark Lord would command Malfoy the task of finding Burke if it was so easy. However, despite of the "_Closed until further notice"_ sign, I broke in. The place was a mess. Shelves, potions, artefacts and books were spread all over the floor, shattered and ragged. The shop had been searched. Now I wondered if the Dark Lord really required Burke or something he had, because the shop was awfully vandalized…as if the searcher was looking for something. Otherwise, why would anyone attack the place so viciously?

I spotted a book on the counter that was neatly opened and carefully positioned, as if someone had read it. It was the only object that appeared to be in place. When I approached to the counter, I noticed that several pages were missing; they had been roughly ripped off. I read the book's title, _The Advantages of Necromancy,_ and quickly scanned the pages. The first half of it explained the history of this branch of magic, its benefits and its relevance for the Dark Arts.

_"(…) The art of raising the dead is up to date, one of the most complex areas of magic, not only because of its advanced level, but also because it is exceptionally demanding and time consuming. The most sophisticated technique is…"_

And then, the subject changed abruptly. The next page was titled "Charmed Skeletons: everything you need to know". I checked the index page immediately and realised that the missing pages were dedicated to Inferi. But this was not what I was looking for. The Dark Lord wouldn't go to Burke for such insignificant issue. The Dark Lord needed _help_. So I decided to keep looking.

After an hour and a half of intense research, I gave up. I was leaving the shop when my eyes spotted several pieces of old Daily Prophet's articles on the floor, near the exit.

_**Hufflepuff descendant found dead  
><strong>__Hepzibah Smith, renowned relic's collector, was found dead by her neighbours this morning. The attacker is yet to be identified._

_**House-elf to blame for Hepzibah Smith's death  
><strong>__House-elf Hokey admitted to poison her master after confusing sugar with highly lethal poison. Life time sentence in Azkaban rumoured to be final._

_**Smith's family report heirlooms' disappearance  
><strong>__Objects haven't been revealed, but it is rumoured that they had been under Borgin and Burkes shop inspection prior to Smith's death. A shop's worker was last known to be in contact with Smith._

The articles alone weren't meaningful; however, the little brown notebook next to them enlightened me. The last one of the articles was sticking out of this notebook marking a page, so I opened it and found what looked like a schedule. In a very messy handwriting I could read:

_August 13__th __of 1946  
><em>_8 o'clock: Armand Blanchet, discuss gloves – assigned to me  
><em>_9 o'clock: Lucy Van Broele, rings – assigned to Borgin  
><em>_10 o'clock: Hepzibah Smith, discuss cup – better send Riddle  
><em>_11 o'clock: Lucius Malfoy, ingredients – check if Flynn can take it_

Tom Riddle was the full name. It was written all over the notebook; he was quite an active employee. He had started to meet with Ms Smith since June of 1946 and, according to the notes, he was brilliant at his job. Next to his name different notes such as "high possibilities" or "excellent handling" were written. The small agenda looked important, the Daily Prophet's articles too, so I took them with me.

I read my findings everynight, trying to find meaning in those words that frankly, became blurrier the more I read. Who was Tom Riddle? He was obviously working for Burke and had met Ms Smith, but why had Burke saved those articles? Why were they relevant? Why mark the last meeting between Tom Riddle and Hepzibah Smith with them? Was the cup mentioned in the notebook one of the objects the family reported as missing? Maybe Burke was just insane, or rejoiced at death like Bellatrix, and decided to save the articles just for fun. But my gut told me that there was more to find out, there had to be a connection between the articles, the notebook and Tom Riddle. So I decided to be part of the search for Burke.

"My Lord," I bowed, "excuse my interference."

"Regulus?"

He was sitting on an armchair, facing the fireplace and playing with his pet snake.

"I heard that you require the presence of Mr. Burke," I said and I had his full attention. He turned around and looked at me.

"Malfoy told me, that you need to find Mr. Burke," I said, "and I want to help, I want to find him for you, my Lord."

He stared at me, penetrating me with his eyes but I stood securely.

"I guess an extra hand would be helpful," he said at last. "After all, Lucius has been nothing but a disappointment."

And I was in.

Months went by in our search for Burke; months in which I kept returning to the shop, looking for evidence, anything that would help me to understand the articles and the notebook. In one of my routine examinations I came across another book that held the shop's inventory throughout the years. The book was big and it had thousands of pages; the red leather cover was in great condition, proof that it was a valuable possession for the shop owners. The already familiar untidy handwriting took note of every single artefact ever bought or sold by the shop, the name of its buyers and sellers, as well as pictures of every object. The annotations started in 1863 and went on until June of 1978. During the first years, the shop only handled a few items and the buyers and sellers' name repeated page after page. However, by the beginning of the Twentieth Century the activity increased tremendously; my eyes focused in one line that read:

_1928: Salazar Slytherin's locket sold to Ms Smith-1005 galleons and 15 sickles._

Salazar Slytherin's locket? How did Burke found such a precious relic? I went back through the pages, trying to track down who the initial seller was. Again, my eyes lay on the right spot:

_1926: Salazar Slytherin's locket bought for 10 galleons from pregnant lady. Passed all tests; verified heirloom. Great bargain._

Now I was lost. Burke had bought Salazar Slytherin's heirloom for 10 galleons and sold it to Ms Smith for an incredible amount of money. Could this be the second object reported by the Smith family? If so, was the cup Tom Riddle discussed with Ms Smith also a Slytherin's heirloom? But, this cup was not bought at the shop because it was not mentioned at all in the red book, which meant that Ms Smith already had it. Then, how could this old lady obtain a Slytherin heirloom if –?

Hufflepuff, I thought and my mind raced. She was a Hufflepuff descendant. Did Ms Smith have the famous Hufflepuff cup? Whoever stole those objects was now owner of two priceless relics of magic's history. Was the Dark Lord after these objects? I could understand why anybody would be tempted to have such precious items, but the Dark Lord? Could it be mere greed? But it didn't make sense; the Dark Lord couldn't need these objects for the only purpose of possessing them, no matter how priceless or sumptuous they were. If he was after that cup and that locket, then he needed them for _something_.

A loud noise startled me; a tall figure appeared by the threshold and I apparated, holding the red book close to my chest.

At home, I read all my findings countless times…_ A shop's worker was last known to be in contact with Smith_. Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle was the last one in contact with one of the objects according to the shop's schedule; he had visited Ms Smith one morning to discuss the cup, Hufflepuff's cup if my suspicions were correct. Now I understood why Burke had placed those articles inside the notebook; despite not having a date, the titles were probably published not long after Riddle's encounter with Smith. Was Tom Riddle the thief? Maybe Ms Smith showed Riddle both relics and avarice won him? But Riddle was not interrogated about any of the crimes, because Burke would have saved those articles as well, wouldn't he? It was as if Riddle had just disappeared.

But who was Tom Riddle? Where was he? Why was Burke so keen to remember this man? I wanted to know who he was, which turned out to be an incredibly hard task. Where could I find information about Tom Riddle? Where could I find more of these articles? I could go back to the shop, but I hardly thought that Burke would have had personal information of Riddle; he was just an employee after all. So where to start? I could check the Wizarding Register Office and look for Riddle's place and time of birth…or death? Maybe he was not alive anymore. But it would bee too foolish of me to present at the Ministry of Magic requesting for that information, plus, we were trying to infiltrate the Ministry and if one of my partners saw me, it would be suspicious. And what if Riddle was dead? Maybe his family dedicated him an obituary on the Daily Prophet? And the answer came out of nowhere: the Library.

I felt like a bloody schoolboy when I entered London's Inquisitive, Book-loving Researchers And Readers Yard, the Library that is, in Diagon Alley. I requested for access to old printed newspapers and once the bookkeeper led me to the appropriate section, I searched. I checked every single Daily Prophet from 1926 to 1950. Initially I thought my efforts were pointless, Tom Riddle was not mentioned anywhere either prior or post Ms Smith's death. But after a third revision of the tall pile of newspapers in front of me, I found the smallest article at the bottom of a page dated May the 3rd of 1943.

_**Hogwarts Prefect solves mystery.  
><strong>__Young Tom Riddle (16), received Special Services to Hogwarts School trophy after unveiling the mystery behind Ms Myrtle Baker's death. The young girl was found a month ago dead in a bathroom; an episode that almost caused the closure of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Mr Riddle made his job to find out the one responsible of the attack and succeeded. A student has been pointed as a possible attacker; however, his identity remains unknown. Our congratulations and gratitude to Mr Riddle and our condolences to the Baker family; we hope that dear Myrtle now rests in peace._

It was short but the satisfaction of finally knowing Riddle was immense. He had been a student at Hogwarts during the 40's, a Prefect. He had helped to solve a mystery…

And I made my job to find out what mystery.

Reading carefully again each newspaper, I learnt about the massive attacks in Hogwarts during 1942. All students were either petrified or severely injured, how and why nobody knew. The only common fact between all victims was their roots: all half-bloods or mudbloods. Half-bloods or mudbloods…

Odd. It sounded strangely like the Dark Lord's behaviour, but it was so long ago, over thirty years. Although, who knew when the Lord was born? He became popular when I was a kid; I was nine years old when I heard my parents mention him for the first time, around 1970's. But for how long had he been around? Riddle had stopped attacks against mudbloods that were perpetrated by an identified student…was this the Dark Lord and could those be his initial attempts? Did Riddle know how to stop the Lord? Was that the reason the Lord was after Burke? Because Burke knew Riddle and where he was? I was guessing a lot but it made sense in my head. I had to find Burke; I had to ask him about Tom Riddle. I couldn't borrow the articles, so I duplicated them and stored them with my other findings at home, inside my wardrobe.

And the line was breaking. It was getting thinner because, why would I want to find a man that knew how to defeat Lord Voldemort? I, his follower, his Death Eater…of course, I didn't stop to think about this at that moment, I got lost in the pursuit of Mr Burke, Tom Riddle and information.

Months went by without any discoveries. Lucius' leadership was very poor; we were miles away from finding Burke. The Dark Lord was getting impatient. He was never around, but everytime he appeared and found our results were null, he would go out of his mind and eventually torture us. This behaviour made me realise that this was a serious matter for the Lord, not a mere whim. In our last meeting, he went a lot further than the regular yelling and torturing: he killed Marcus Rosier and fed his snake with the dead body, right in front of his brother. It was disturbing and scared us all. We _had_ to find Burke soon.

It was mid October, very late at night, when the Dark Mark burned in my arm. Someone was summoning the Lord, which meant that we had to gather at the Lestrange Mansion. By the time I arrived, the Dark Lord was already there with Bellatrix and Rodolphus by his side. They had found Burke, who was locked up in an underground cellar. Soon enough, the Dark Lord disappeared and all we could hear were the old man's screams, pleading for mercy. The Lord laughed and demanded an answer, but all the old man said was that he didn't know. This scene repeated for weeks. We were requested to guard the cellar in turns. I attended every Wednesday, Friday and Saturday with Evan Rosier as my partner; from time to time the Lord would appear and torture Burke more and more, until he begged to die.

But one night, the Lord didn't appear and Rosier fell asleep on a chair next to the cellar's entrance. It was the only opportunity that I had to talk to Burke, so I unlocked the cellar and entered the cold, stony room. The old man widened his eyes at the sight of the door opening, but relaxed when he saw that it was me, not the Lord. Burke sat on the floor, with his back against the wall, and looked completely deformed. His face was bruised and bloodied, and his arms fell lifelessly at his sides.

"Mr Burke…" I whispered.

His mouth was covered in blood and his lips were very swollen. He tried to speak, but only a rough sigh came out. He was extremely dehydrated too, so I summoned a glass of water and offered it to him. He frantically tried to grab it, but his broken arms didn't move. I helped him by approaching the cup to his lips and the water disappeared in a matter of seconds, as he swallowed in desperation. I knew I didn't have much time, so I went straight to the point.

"What is the Dark Lord looking for?"

He didn't reply.

"Where is Tom Riddle?" I asked and he still didn't speak, but his expression changed.

"Mr Burke," I insisted.

He slowly moved his head upwards, lifting his chin; he was indicating something to me. I turned around, thinking that he was pointing at something (or someone) behind me. But we were alone. The old man was losing his strength and was falling to one side; so I put both my hands on his shoulders trying to stabilize him.

And he did it again; but this time, he pointed at my left arm.

"The Mark?" I asked frowning and he nodded. The Mark? Was Riddle one of us?

"Is he a Death Eater?"

But Burke shook his head, clearly frustrated.

"He took them…" he said slowly and painfully. "He ran away…"

"Riddle? Riddle took them?" I asked and the old man nodded.

"What? What did he –" I paused because I already knew the answer.

"The locket and the cup," I whispered and Burke nodded. "Is that what the Lord's after?"

Burke shook his head and muttered, "he is –"

"Black?" came Rosier's voice from the hall. "Black, what are you doing?"

Without any hesitation, I pointed my wand at Burke and shouted, "Crucio!"

My actions felt wrong. But at least they helped me to convince Rosier that I was giving Burke what he deserved.

The conversation with the old man was more confusing than enlightening. Why did he mention the cup and the locket? Why were they relevant? I had decided that they weren't important, Riddle was important. How could a Hogwarts' hero who had caught a murderer end up stealing from an old woman like Smith? Why had Burke pointed at the Dark Mark at the mention of Riddle? And…Burke had said that the Dark Lord was not after Riddle. So I was utterly lost, now.

Christmas and New Year's Eve went by and I had not progressed in my search for the truth. I was so obsessed and immersed in my search that all I did, day and night, was thinking. I considered interviewing Burke again, but Rosier didn't take his eyes off me after the night he found me inside the cellar. I knew I wouldn't be able to pull off another lie again, so I discarded a new meeting with Burke. Plus, trying to start a conversation with the old man was impossible; he was too beaten up to talk, move and probably think.

But I was wrong.

One night, I found myself guarding the cellar with Rosier again. We heard noises coming from inside, but we were used to them. Burke would groan and even cry for help from time to time.

"Bloody hell, he is annoying tonight," said Rosier. "Keep an eye on him while I get some firewhiskey."

I saw him retreating and was about to break into the cellar, but immediately discarded the idea. It wouldn't take him too long to go to the kitchen; maybe he even found a house-elf on his way there. I heard noises again, but they were different this time. It sounded as if something was being dragged across the room and then, it crushed against the wooden door. A trembling hand appeared through the small gap between the floor and the door. And I understood: Mr Burke had crawled from his spot against the wall. He was handing me a key, a small golden and rusty key. I took it without any vacillation and heard him crawl back. Rosier appeared a few seconds later.

I like to think that that was the old man's last act of greatness, or hope. I never heard of him again. The Dark Lord may have killed him or moved him to a different location, or – not likely – released him.

I had a new problem now. What should I unlock with that key? There were a thousand places to look and I had absolutely no idea where to go; no clue or hint, even. The only place I could think of was the shop. It was a start, so I went to _Borgin and Burkes_. Once…twice…three times and nothing. With every visit I paid to the shop, I destroyed it a little bit more. I smashed cupboards, tossed aside papers and blew apart artefacts…I was desperate. It was on my fourth try when I found it; the most horrible object. It was hidden on the basement, under the smallest trap door, that was overlooked by me and the previous searchers because it was covered by loads of books and smashed wooden shelves. I inserted the key in the trap door's lock and it clicked. In front of me was a very thick, black leathered book. I went through the pages and realised that, actually, it was a manuscript; a very old manuscript. The pages were extremely yellow and their edges were rough; the handwriting was barely visible. However, it was clear that the author was giving instructions of potions and spells. Initially, I didn't pay much attention to it. I just thought it was another bunch of papers to add to the large pile I already had in my room; but when I started reading it, really reading it, I realised how wicked and sinister it was. The first pages were dedicated to basic dark magic, like how to cast a Cruciatus Curse and how to create dark spells; but these things sounded new for the author, as if he himself had discovered them. The difficulty, however, increased page after page. By the middle of the book, the author taught how to hatch basilisks, how to control them and it listed all the dark uses of its venom. This was new for me; I had never read anything like this, never met anyone capable of handling such creatures…I had always thought basilisks breeding was a myth.

The author was obviously a precursor of the Dark Arts; the volume must have been created centuries ago. My mind raced in excitement at the thought of having in my hands what I thought to be the most precious book in Dark Magic's History. Could these annotations belong to Herpo the Foul, the first renowned Dark Wizard? Herpo the Foul…whose basilisk was the first recorded in the history of magic, whose vile curses had passed from generation to generation through Dark Art's books, whose evil mind led to the creation of the first Horcrux in history…

Intuitively, I opened the book at the last pages, where I assumed the hardest and most advanced magic would be explained. And I was right; the author taught how to bewitch objects and possess them, prolonging self existence. This was magic I had never heard of, it was beyond the familiar torturing or killing curses. It explained how to create a Horcrux; how to rip your soul and pass it onto something as simple and vain as a fork. The author claimed that according to his investigations, as long as one's soul rested in the object…one would be immortal.

This was what the Lord was after; I had absolutely no doubt about it. He wanted to be immortal, to prolong his reign of fear and pureblood supremacy. At that moment, it sounded exciting. The Dark Lord would live forever and we, true and pure wizards, would always be above all. And if I was the one to hand him this valuable information, this truly dark and evil book, he would be grateful, appreciate me…but for some reason, I kept the book in my room.

Months passed by and the Lord surprisingly started to require my services very frequently. He would call me for every meeting, require my assistance in his missions and even ask for my opinion. I wondered if he knew that I knew...but I didn't care, I was pleased to serve him; pleased, but wary.

One night he called me to the Lestrange Mansion and asked me if he could borrow my house-elf, Kreacher. Of course, I told him that I felt honoured and that Kreacher would be highly pleased to serve him. And my suspicions were triggered again; why would the Dark Lord require a house-elf's help? I took Kreacher to meet the Dark Lord the following night and explicitly told him to come back and tell me everything the Dark Lord did. Whatever it was the Dark Lord needed, it could not be good.

And Kreacher came back the next day; shaking and sobbing. He told me that the Dark Lord took him to a cavern by the sea. They entered and crossed a big black lake and reached an island, where a basin full of potion awaited them. The Dark Lord forced him to drink the liquid and what happened next left me speechless. Kreacher said he felt he was dying, that his insides burnt and he saw terrible things in his head. He said he cried for me, for my help, for me to save him…and dead bodies attacked him and dragged him into the black lake. He felt hands scratching his body, deeply penetrating his skin. He was covered in blood; his bloodshot eyes full of tears, his little body shivering at the remembrance of the episode.

"What did the Lord do?" I asked. "How did you come back?"

"The Dark Lord put a locket in the basin and sailed away, leaving Kreacher behind," he said shivering, "and Master Regulus asked Kreacher to come back, so he returned."

I felt disgusted by the Dark Lord's actions and by the use he was giving to my poor and loyal house-elf, but mostly, by the fact that I let Kreacher be the Lord's puppet. I knew that the Lord's intentions weren't noble from the beginning and yet, I said that it was an honour and happily handed Kreacher to him.

But Kreacher's last words lingered in my mind.

"A locket?" I asked and Kreacher nodded.

"Did you see the locket?" Kreacher nodded again.

"Do you remember it?" I pointed my wand towards my room and Burke's red book flew to my hands. I quickly went through the pages until I found the picture of Slytherin's locket.

"Is this it? Is this the locket?" I asked hurriedly, my mind was racing; I was so close to understanding everything.

Kreacher nodded and I sighed deeply.

The Dark Lord had found Riddle and obtained the locket, probably the cup too. But…why hide it? A far away cavern; inside it, a lake filled with dead bodies…the missing pages of the book in Borgin and Burkes where about Inferi, weren't they? That's probably what attacked Kreacher. Why protect the locket with such horrible magic? All that effort could not be put only because it was Salazar Slytherin's locket, there had to be another reason...why would a simple and vain locket –?

"Horcruxes…" I whispered to myself. "He is creating Horcruxes."

And I remembered that during Tom Riddle's years at Hogwarts there were attacks against mudbloods and halfbloods…and I also remembered that night in the cellar, when Burke pointed at my left arm with his head. What did that mean? He had said that Tom Riddle was not a Death Eater and that the Dark Lord was not after him. Could it be possible? Tom Riddle and the Lord…were they the same person? So, the Dark Lord worked for Burke and was in touch with all these objects, books and Dark Magic. He stole the cup and the locket from Ms Smith's house and disappeared. Had he killed Ms Smith? Had Burke suspected this all along and kept the articles as evidence? Was Burke tracking down the Lord's activities throughout the years? Did he hide the black leathered book because he anticipated the Lord's intentions? But that didn't matter anymore. The Dark Lord had succeeded, hadn't he? The locket was turned into a Horcrux. Was the cup a Horcrux as well? Hufflepuff's cup… Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket…was the Lord collecting Hogwarts' relics and turning them into Horcruxes?

A horrific thought came to my mind, of the Dark Lord living forever; his rotten soul and twisted mind everlasting through the ages…what once sounded grandiose, now was inexplicably revolting. I didn't know on which side I was anymore. The good, the bad? I didn't care. I had discovered the Dark Lord's secret and it was so wicked and repulsive that I had to stop him. I had to do something because now, in my mind, I couldn't stand the idea of an eternal state of terror. I remembered how it was before he appeared, before he became famous…when I would play Quidditch with my brother in our toy brooms; when I was a happy kid.

And that's when I realized that I was not happy. I had sunk so low, got lost in this dark world and completely forgotten to live. Because torturing people, killing, chasing _mudbloods_ was not living. And fighting against the Lord, hiding from his Death Eaters was not living either. We were all lost, good or bad; it didn't matter. The Dark Lord was killing us all and someone had to stop him.

"Kreacher," I said, "you have to take me there."

And so the line vanished.


End file.
